The Blood on His Hands
by T-c3
Summary: Batman thinks he can save everyone, but the Joker snaps him back to reality.


A/N: It's technically not slash, but if you want to look at it that way, then that's fine.

Disclaimer: Nothing in the Batman world belongs to me.

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He flew down the road on the Batpod at full speed. Effortlessly weaving around the cars, he kept his mind focused on saving the twenty or so hostages. The Joker had his goons hijack a bus, and the news got out quickly, for the hostages were allowed to use their cell phones. Batman wasn't fooled. He knew they were just bait. The Joker wanted to have his "fun" with him, so he wasn't even going to bother with the clown this time. There were children on that bus, and that made rescuing the hostages a more important task than usual.

It didn't surprise him that he beat the cops to the abandoned building. He hadn't let Gordon know the location when he figured it out, since he told Alfred to wait until about ten minutes after he left to send the message. He didn't want to deal with police chasing him down. Getting the people on the bus to safety could easily be done by him alone. He'd let the cops take care of the aftermath.

Quickly getting off his bike, Batman rushed over to the charter bus that was parked beside the graying building. He tore the door open, but was met with a sign hanging from the ceiling instead of the hostages. It read, "Try again, Bats. Maybe you should come on up. Please do, please do!" He growled, realizing that the unfortunate souls were probably in the building.

After finding the entrance, he ran up to the second floor and searched every room. "Come on up" wasn't very specific, but it wasn't meant to be easy. Once he reach the last room on the third floor, he was getting more and more frustrated. Every second he wasted, the closer those people were to death.

Just as he was about to turn around, something came rushing at him and tackled him to the ground. He didn't have time to get his bearings before he felt something sharp slip between the Kevlar plates on his left side. Grimacing, Batman swung at his attacker, knocking the familiar weight off of him. Then came the obnoxious laughter.

"Really, now! What's the point of that armor, hmm?"

Batman got to his feet and seized the Joker's wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. Then, grabbing a handful of his coat's lapels, he roared, "What did you do with them?"

The Joker only chuckled in response.

"Answer me!"

"Ohhh, don't worry so much." He grinned widely, all too pleased with himself. "They're not harmed . . . ye_t_."

Enraged, Batman threw him to the ground and turned to continue his desperate search. But the Joker grabbed onto his cape and pulled back hard, sending the Dark Knight backwards and crashing hard onto the concrete floor. Taking advantage of Batman's temporary disoriented state, the manic clown scrambled over to the heavy, metal door and shut it tight. Then a loud clang came from the other side, causing the Joker to burst out laughing.

"What was that?" Batman demanded after he stood and marched over to his enemy.

Calming down, the Joker replied happily, "I told my men to lock the door once I shut it. We need some _alone_ time, dontchya think?"

Batman only scowled and shoved the man aside.

"Well, I just thought it would be enter_tain_ing to watch you squirm. You see, Bats, they have the detonator that will blow those poor, _innocent_ people into a million little pieces. Not much you can do about that from in _here_."

Batman scanned the room, realizing with growing horror that the only exit was that locked door. He couldn't let those people die. Now he was immensely regretting his decision to delay letting Gordon know the location.

He whirled around and grabbed the Joker's coat once again, barely keeping himself in check so as not to grab his throat instead. "Tell them to open it!" he bellowed.

The Joker laughed in his face. There was no reason for him to cooperate with his toy. Nothing could be used to threaten him. Batman had absolutely no power over him, and he knew that drove the man insane.

Infuriated, Batman slammed the Joker into the door, lifting him off the ground slightly. "Tell them!"

"There's no point," the clown replied gleefully, licking his lips. "They've left already, but they'll come back after it's done _raining limbs_."

With a loud snarl, Batman threw him off to the side and began inspecting the door. It was thick, but the space between the door and the wall was wide enough that he could see through to the other side. It was a dilapidated building, after all, and it didn't seem like it was built properly to begin with. He was able to determine that a large piece of metal was the only thing standing in his way from saving those people. Unfortunately, none of the tools he had on him could get through metal. His mind raced, trying to come up with some way out. Roughing up the Joker wasn't going to help because control had already been passed onto his henchmen. But perhaps there was a way to contact them.

He walked over to the Joker, who was giving him a wide grin, and patted him down, looking for a two-way radio. The other man jumped slightly, not expecting to be frisked, and he frowned when Batman took his other knife from his inside coat pocket. Although, as his search lowered, the Joker chuckled.

"Well, doesn't _this_ appear a little _scan_dalous," he said when Batman squatted in front of him to pat down his legs.

He stood up straight and glared at him.

"What? All I have I have is that," the Joker said, pointing to the knife.

"You usually have more on you."

Batman walked back to the door, jammed the blade in the space between the door and the wall, and bent the thin metal out of annoyance. That earned him a low growl from the clown, but he ignored him. His thoughts were focused on finding a way out. He would do anything to save those hostages. Having the blood of children on his hands would just be too much to bear.

"That," the Joker snapped, "was my favorite knife."

"Do you think I care?" Batman mumbled.

Suddenly, an idea hit him. The hinges! As long as the piece of metal wasn't bolted to both the door and the wall, he would be able to pry the door off. Just as he was about to take out one of his tools, something slammed into his back with a dull thud.

There was numerous debris scattered around the room, and the Joker had picked up a large pipe and started wailing on Batman to serve as revenge for his treasured knife. He hit him as hard and as fast as he could, but of course, Batman fought back. Everything was in blurred motion. The pain was so exquisite that the Joker soon forgot about his knife. After the pipe was ripped from his hands, the Dark Knight beat him to the ground, rage surging through him.

Laughter gurgled from the Joker's mouth, sheer gratification giving him a high. What he found even more amusing about the Bat's sudden lack of control was the fact that time was ticking by. Didn't he want to save those hostages? The rage was blinding him to the reason why he was there to begin with.

Curious to see his reaction, the Joker asked between punches, "Aren't—oof!—you forgetting—mm!—about something?"

Batman froze, eyes widened slightly. He immediately got to his feet and began working on the hinges, mentally berating himself for getting carried away.

Sitting up, the Joker watched with entertainment as Batman frantically worked at the door's hinges with . . . a screwdriver? Was his utility belt a portal that he could just reach into and pull out whatever he wanted? But watching him trying to escape was quickly losing its fun factor.

As Batman continually hit the butt end of the tiny screwdriver to drive the pin up, the Joker said casually, "You can't save them, you know. You think you can save _everyone_, but you can't." Smiling, he placed his hands behind him on the floor, leaning back on them to keep himself propped up. "What would you do if they died? There's children on that bus. Could you _handle_ their blood on your hands?"

"You make it sound like they're still on the bus."

"They are!" he responded cheerfully.

Batman stopped and peered over his shoulder at the clown. "I was on the bus, and all that was there was your sign."

"Ohhh, Batsy!" He laughed, which made his face pulse with pain. "You know I'm not that simple! What you went on was one my men took from a bus yard. The _real_ bus is a few blocks from here."

This news made Batman work faster. Now he had no idea where the hostages were. Once he got the door open, he'd have to force the information out of the Joker somehow, or maybe he could find one of his goons and make them talk.

One pin was out, two more to go.

Ignore the pain, the Joker walked up to him in long strides, noting the expression in the man's eyes. While expecting to see anger, he saw anxiety instead. He couldn't stop himself from giggling. That was a reaction he'd never seen from the Bat. And when he saw the corner of his mouth twitch in response to his laughter, it only amused him more.

Another pin out.

That's when the Joker thought it was time to have some more fun. He practically skipped over to a corner of the room and rummaged through the debris until he found his precious device. Switching it on, he turned to Batman and said, "I _told_ you that you can't save everyone." The Joker waved the device in the air, trying to get his attention. "Chaos is the stronger force. It will always win over order."

When Batman finally looked at him, his eyes grew wide in horror. "_You_ have the detonator?" he rasped.

"Of course!" the Joker chirped. "And I didn't have it on me so as to keep up the illusion that everything was out of my control. Really, Bats." He frowned and put his weight on one foot, then switched to the other, giving the appearance of an upset child. "I thought you knew me better."

Batman dropped his screwdriver and took a few steps towards the deranged man. "Joker, _don't_."

He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Have you forgotten _ev_erything? I'm so disap_point_ed."

When the Joker put his hand on the switch, Batman lifted his right arm and shot the fins from his bracer without warning. Four of the six hit his target, embedding themselves into the Joker's left shoulder and upper arm. The shock made him drop the detonator, and Batman ran up to retrieve it.

With pain never holding the Joker back, he quickly, yet clumsily, picked it back up before Batman got to him. Then he flicked the switch just as the Dark Knight knocked him to the ground. Wherever the bus was, it was close enough for both of them to hear the explosion.

Batman froze above the Joker, not believing what just happened. Those children . . . He couldn't even breathe. His thoughts were jumbled, as if someone just destroyed a puzzle that had been so carefully put together. People had died because of him before, but this felt different. Those people didn't die because he let it happen; they died because he wasn't good enough. He was pathetic for falling right into the Joker's trap.

Laughter erupted beneath him. He looked down at the Joker's euphoric expression, and all he wanted to do was kill him. Never before had the urge to murder the psychotic clown been so strong. Perhaps literally having the Joker's blood on his hands would be enough punishment for himself. Breaking his one rule would be torture, but he didn't deserve anything better.

Batman let the anger take control, and he slipped into the back seat of his mind. He didn't pay much attention to what he was doing, didn't want to. Focusing on the Joker's reactions would only make it worse because he knew it was what the man wanted. Getting beaten within an inch of his life meant that he was winning, and if he got killed, their game would be over. There was also the fact that he had a sneaking suspicion that the Joker was a masochist. Batman desperately tried to ignore the signs that pointed to that, and so he continued to look the other way while his fury held the reins.

The Joker was doing the exact opposite. He was completely absorbed in the moment. The punches, the kicks, him being treated like a rag doll, thrown all about the room. He felt it all in such great intensity that his breaths were shallow and his eyelids were constantly fluttering shut. But he had to open them again to see that wild look in his aggressor's dark eyes. The lack of control, the utter _chaos_, gave him such satisfaction. Batman was becoming more than his toy. He was becoming is very own creation.

But then the punches and kicks abruptly ceased. Batman stumbled backwards, breathing heavily. The Joker was confused for a moment before he heard the sirens. _They always ruin my fun_, he thought indignantly.

Still in somewhat of a daze, Batman walked over to the door, picked up the forgotten screwdriver, and resumed working on the final pin. It felt strange being in control of himself again. It took a few minutes for his body to finally calm down and his mind to become clear. Then he noticed the blood and white greasepaint on his gloved knuckles, and he tried to swallow around the lump that was forming in his throat. He had never lost it like that before, and it terrified him how close he had been to becoming a murderer.

It took a great deal of effort for the Joker to prop himself up. The pain was almost blinding. He spit out the blood that had been pooling in his mouth while he crawled over to the nearest wall. The Batman had beaten him to such an extent that he couldn't even stand without some form of support. Once he did get to his feet, he had to slouch more than usual, for it felt like a couple of ribs were broken. Then he took the back of his hand and swiped it across his left eyebrow in a vain attempt to stop the blood from getting into his eye. His entire body hurt—quite the understatement—but he didn't care. He didn't even care that the laughter he couldn't keep down made the pain so much worse. Knowing it was inflicted by _him_, he thrived on that pain.

"What . . . can you _possibly_ do now, hmm?"

The pin was free. Batman got a decent grip on the edge of the door and pulled, relieved that the strip of metal was, in fact, only bolted onto the door. After opening it all the way, he simply let it slam onto the floor. Then he reluctantly walked over to his battered and bruised enemy, who was leaning against the wall, laughing wildly. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pushed him forward, but the sudden movement caused the Joker to fall onto his hands and knees. Grimacing, Batman forced the still laughing clown to his feet and led him forward.

"Where are we going, Bats?" the Joker asked pleasantly, sounding a bit hyper.

He remained silent.

Once they had exited the room and walked down to the end of the hall, Batman pushed him to the ground and got out one of his cables. Pinning the Joker's arms to his sides, he began wrapping the cord around him tightly. He would contact Gordon to let him know where to pick the Joker up. The only reason Batman wanted him out of that room was because he didn't like the man being around all that debris. He could be hiding something else in there.

"So," the clown drawled, "you won't _kill_ me, but beating me to a bloody pulp is A-okay. That's a fine line there."

"There is no 'fine line' between the living and the dead," Batman said gruffly, tying off the knot.

As he started to walk away, the Joker had to make one last jab. "I wonder how well you'll sleep tonigh_t_. Those poor children _died_ because of _you_. Now Gordon and his little gang have to go pick - up - the - pieces."

Batman kept walking, shutting his eyes and trying with all his willpower to keep himself from running back and finishing what he had started. The clown's laughter followed him throughout the building until he was finally outside. Then he saw the billowing cloud of smoke. He grit his teeth and turned to the wall of the building, punching it so hard that he felt every bone in his hand shatter. Batman let out a guttural cry and fell to his knees, their souls weighing him down.

Minutes passed before he called Gordon and told him where to find the Joker. Gordon tried asking him what happened, but Batman disconnected the call and got onto his bike. He had to get away from that place, get away from what he swore was the smell of burnt flesh.

Even though he didn't break his rule, it still felt like the Joker had won.


End file.
